


Weird

by Xenovia



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: ADHD Randall Ascot, Miracle Mask Spoilers, i wrote this for me but you can read it, mentions of ADHD Descole, slaps roof of fanfic, this baby can fit so much self projection into it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 06:29:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20205262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenovia/pseuds/Xenovia
Summary: The discovery of the Azran was the only thing that would make people understand him, and he wasn't going back home without that mask.





	Weird

**Author's Note:**

> "Oh is Xene writing another story about Randall Ascot" you bet your ass I am and this time we're in full self projection mode babey 
> 
> (This story can also read as Autistic Randall if you also want to project, I don't mind :). It's hard to find the distinction in my own experience.)

Randall’s world was fast.

His brain was faster still.

But the world around him would never go quite fast enough.

He’d sit in classrooms, unable to focus on what the teacher was talking about because he needed to be home, that book on the Azran was calling out to him. He’d ignore the fact that he’d already been late because he’d been finishing off that one chapter (Two chapters. Maybe it had turned into three. Okay he’d read half the book and was an hour late but it was really interesting.)

The Teacher’s voice droned. It wasn’t that he hated the lesson, he loved Archaeology more than anything. But he already knew this stuff. He’d sit there, work already finished, his mind slowly dying as he waited for other people to catch up.

They thought he was just smart, or pompous.

Or _Weird._

He knew that he was just passionate.

Sometimes kids would pick on him, for his interests, his clothes, even his friends. But it didn’t bother him too much. Well it did, but it didn’t last.

At the very least, they’d stop picking on him after Dalston and Angela had stepped in.

Mostly he could cope, but there were times where it was overwhelming. An extra comment from a boy in his class, an extra minute he had to sit at his desk so the teacher could collect papers, it all added up.

He tried to talk to his family about what was up with his brain, but his dad had told him to get over it. “Everyone deals with those things” He’d say. “Stop trying to be unique.’

His mother would tell him to “keep his chin up, everyone has their off days”

But they didn’t, he knew they didn’t. Seemingly despite his parents’ beliefs, he actually did talk to other people.

It was true his friends had their quirks. Henry wouldn’t speak in situations he was unfamiliar with. Hershel didn’t often make eye contact. There were things some of them could do and things others couldn’t. They all understood. It wasn’t just teenagers being teenagers.

But his dad wouldn’t understand that. So he tried to be a ‘normal’ kid.

Do what dad wants. Pay attention. Keep your hands still.

_You’re being weird Randall._ He’d think. _Hide it._

So he’d hide it. Suppressing the urge to talk about puzzles when he was with his family. (Until he met up with Angela, where he’d unload all his newest trick question ones. She’d listen and try to solve them even though they weren’t really her thing. Randall appreciated that.) He wouldn’t fiddle with his scarf, or blurt out his ideas about an excavation that he had to go and research immediately right that moment.

He’d be normal.

It felt unusual, and alien. But he had to try and stick with it. All he wanted was for his parents to be proud. So he’d play the role, say the lines. Let them think he was the perfect kid they wanted.

As soon as he was away from them, he could go back to focusing on what he wanted. The Azran.

He spent many nights researching the mask, secretly so that his parents wouldn’t berate his interests again. Henry would to come and remind him to get food. And then come in again later to remind him to eat the food. The mask was all Randall could think about.

He had to hope he could stay focused long enough to actually make the discovery (God knew that all he needed was a slightly interesting article about Fossils and he’d be off exploring that instead), so he worked tirelessly for days.

His room got messier, his school-work suffered. The mask was all he had time for.

He knew that if he uncovered an Ancient civilization, his parents would have to be proud. The kids in his school would stop making fun of his interests.

His hobby wouldn’t be _weird_ anymore. It’d be a success. They’d finally get it.

Those were the thoughts in his head as he dangled off the edge of a cliff in Akbadain. He had to save that mask, it was the only thing that would make people understand his work. He’d put so much time into it, he couldn’t just let go of all that time. He couldn’t fail now.

But of course he did. Typical.

When he woke up in Craggy Dale, he didn’t understand what was going on in his head. Things made him jumpy, his reactions didn’t make sense. And there weren’t exactly therapists or public libraries in underground cities (Well there was one, but it only had books on farming and the occasional novel.) He concluded that he just wasn’t dealing well with his amnesia.

He tried giving the simple life a go. The farming bored him to tears, but he figured it was what he was meant to do. So he stuck to it, spending years improving his skills.

But that mask on his desk called to him, he knew he had to do something with it. He’d fixate on it constantly.

When Descole came, explaining the Masked Gentleman idea, he assumed that was what he was meant to do. Fueled by an extra addition of anger, they set out.

Randall soon came to understand that Descole was like him. He didn’t really know what that meant, but he felt it. The man was obsessed with this Azran thing he talked about, he had problems remembering what they’d just been discussing, he was incredibly impatient. 

He'd listen, even if he wasn't absorbing the information. The two of them would take turns near monologuing, and they both had issues with their families. There was an odd amount in common. 

And Descole didn't hide. He didn't try to be normal. He flaunt round town in a mask and feather boa, not caring what people thought. It was admirable. 

Though Randall didn’t like the man much, he felt at ease with him as the two figured out their friendship.

It was _weird_, but it worked.

Eventually, he figured things out again. It took a stint as a supervillain and a good eighteen years, but he worked it out.

Monte D’Or had a very good therapist, and his friend understood him. In his head it didn’t excuse anything he'd done, but it explained things. He found his routine again, and worked out why he'd been so lost in Craggy Dale.

When he was finally allowed to just sit in the library reading books on the Azran again, dressed in the odd tacky clothes he loved and shutting out the outside world, he was at peace.

Yes, Randall Ascot was weird.

But weird was a word he was starting to take comfort it.

**Author's Note:**

> Idk if'll keep this up cause dear lord is it self indulgent, but if people enjoy it then hey! 
> 
> (Also if anyone else projects their own insecurities and mental stuff onto Layton characters, please let me know! I'd love to hear who people can relate to )


End file.
